


Searching for Heaven

by Missmomo, YourFirstLastKiss



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, and Marius tries to be responible, grantaire and Éponine are best gal pals, mentions of abuse, pugs are great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missmomo/pseuds/Missmomo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFirstLastKiss/pseuds/YourFirstLastKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to escape the abusive hand of his father, Grantaire leaves his impoverished town to study in Paris. There he meets the revolutionary group, Amis de l’ABC, and a their very strong willed leader, Enjolras, whom he's fascinated by. But their first cold meeting leaves him wanting, even if they barely see eye to eye on anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awaken My soul

**Author's Note:**

> We will update tags as we go!

Chapter One

Awaken My Soul

 

 

Grantaire used to believe in everything. Destiny, love, trust; hell, he even believed in fairies for awhile. But all that faith he had in the world was gone, beaten from him since he was 14 years old. The bruises and broken bones came and went, but the scars stayed with him. In his mind, that’s just how the world worked, dead beat dad and mother who didn’t care where the norm. It wasn’t until he entered college to study art that he realized that something was wrong in his life.

 

Teachers began to question the bruises, threatening to tell the police if he didn’t. He begged and pleaded saying it was nothing, he was just clumsy. But everyone saw through the lies and insisted he went for help. In a perfect world, it would have gotten better, and that’s what he hoped for when he went back to his home that night. But when the beatings didn’t stop, something broke inside of the young painter.

 

_I defended this man._

_I said it would get better._

But as he inspected his almost broken nose and eye socket, he knew it wouldn’t. So the next day he skipped his classes and headed straight to the dean’s office; demanding a transfer. His professors didn’t see it as him seeking help, but as long as he was out of harms way, they agreed. And that night, he packed what ever he could and booked a flight to Paris.

 

Paris; what a city it was. Known for its bright lights, food, and art, Grantaire couldn’t be happier.  It left his soul leaping for joy, something to finally look forward to. People littered the streets, the lights shone brighter than any stars he had ever seen. It was marvelous.

 

Jean, or Jehan as some people called him, was the first person he was to meet. He was an average looking man with a strong jaw and curly brown hair that seemed a little too long for his liking. Through out the day he would let out a puff of air from his lips to blow it out of his way or even wear head bands to keep it bay while he wrote poetry. Grantaire had never met a man quite like him in his home town of Tarbes, so much life in someone so young. From the way he dressed, he seemed a little behind in the since of fashion, but he constantly said “What’s hip here is way behind some where else. No point in trying to keep up.” He insisted his language studies were far more important anyways.

 

Jehan took in the new artist with out a single question. The university had asked around for someone to help house their “exchange student” since dorms seemed to be running short these days. The university was slightly reluctant to hand over the, rumored delicate, student but after no one showed as much interest as Jehan, they agreed.

 

The apartment they lived in was buried deep with in the town, far enough away from the busier parts but close enough to get to where they needed. “The city is hard place to live for a poet!” He would rant, “So many distracting noises and smells. It messes with the sensory of the brain; doesn’t let me think properly.” Grantaire would just give a shy smile before going back to his own work.

 

It didn’t take long for Grantaire to meet Jehan's group of friends. Their normal hang out spot was a small café, the Musain, that wasn’t but a few blocks away from their apartment. While the building was small, there was an upstairs where the “Amis de l’ABC” or The “Amis,” would relax, study, and chat. Courfeyrac, who was a handsome, happy-go-lucky individual, said it’s where they would plot. Grantaire didn’t know what that meant but decided to give up on what plotting entailed. It wasn’t much of his business anyways.

 

There was a large group of the Amis, all of which were strong willed men; and women if Éponine was included which she sometimes was, just depended on the situation. She was the one he seemed to grow closest with and she seemed to enjoy the attention since everyone seemed to brush her off as entertaining, especially Marius. While the Amis accepted him into the group, they didn’t count him as one of their brothers, yet. So when they began to do their own thing, he would sit in back with Éponine and sip on coffee spiked with whiskey, which he greatly appreciated.

 

Over the weeks he spent with his new gained friends, he always heard them to refer to someone, never giving him a proper name –and if they did Grantaire never caught it. It was always; “When is _he_ going to come?” or “ _He’s_ in such a bad mood lately; must be the heavy class load.”

 

The more they talked of this mysterious “he,” the more curious Grantaire became. What ever it was they plotted seemed to revolve around this mystery man. When he asked Jeham about who ever it was, he simply smiled, setting his pencil down to look at him, “Took you long enough to ask. Joly is going to take you to meet him tomorrow; I promise it’ll all make sense then.” He snickered to himself as he turned back to his work, “What a surprise you’re in, my sweet Grantaire!”

 

When Joly came to pick him up, he expected to head to the café, not to a public park that was only west of the Louvre museum. He opened his mouth to ask what they were doing when he heard it.

 

A large crowd was gathered at the base of a large statute centaur, cheering and clapping. But that wasn’t what Grantaire was interested in, oh no, it was the blonde man standing above them. He stood atop a large box, shouting over them about some court case which was happening currently. But the artist heard no words, just watched pale lips shout words as if they held the same importance of those Martin Luther King spoke. His golden, brown eyes glowing with passion and with his golden curls, he could only be known as one person; Apollo.

 

It all made sense why the Amis followed him, his strength was not in his body but his words, his voice. He was no man, he was sunlight itself.

 

Joly laughed as he stared at Grantaire’s awed expression; it’s how they all reacted to the man. He drew people in that way, his charisma was the only thing keeping them going in this crazy idea of changing the world. With a slight sigh, he set his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, “Come on,” The crowd began to thin signaling the small rally was over, “Let’s go meet him.”

 

Grantaire gave a little shiver, escaping his small trance as they walked forward over to where the blonde was sitting on the box, rummaging through papers.

 

“Enjolras!” Joly called, earning a small glance from the man who now had a name, “Meet our newbie.”

 

Enjolras straightened his back but didn’t stand, looking over Grantaire, “I’ve heard about you.” He said lightly causing Grantaire’s heart to leap slightly. He looked back down to the papers in his hands, “You’re eye, what happened?”

 

Grantaire’s body stiffened, not even aware that the yellowing around his eye was even visible to anyone but him.  Even Joly turned to look at what the blonde was talking about. And sure enough, the last bit of evidence of the abuse from two weeks ago framed his eye from his eyebrow down to his cheek bone. He reached up and gently touched the offending area, it no longer hurt but the memory did. “I fell.” Was all he could say. He could tell Enjolras didn’t believe him by the way he raised his eyebrows in question, but it was such a hard habit to break away from after years of making excuses.

 

Enjolras scoffed, a poor attempt to cover up the laugh that was trying to make its way up throat. He stood with his materials gathered up in his arms, “Well I hope you take better care while walking. It’d be a shame for you to hurt something of value, such as your hands, Mr. Artist.” He only stayed a moment longer to say goodbye to the shocked Joly, before disappearing in the opposite direction.

 

 

* * *

 

“So you met Enjy today, didn’t you?”

 

“What?” Grantaire looked up at Éponine with a blank face, obviously not hearing her.

 

“Enjolras, did you meet him?” She set down his “special” brew of coffee “He’s quite the character, isn’t?” Grantaire considered that an understatement but didn’t say what he was thinking. He was their beloved leader after all.  “You’ll have to just learn to ignore him when he’s in that mood,” Éponine continued as she worked on arranging the dishes behind the counter, “he’s worked hard for his causes. I mean it makes sense after he disowned his own parents and had to work his way back up.”

 

He tilted his head in curiosity wanting her to continue to but didn’t feel like it was her place to tell Enjolras’ life story. Even though she had only known him for a few days, she knew what he wanted. So she smiled, continuing her job behind the counter as she spoke; “Enjolras was born into a rich family who lived in Cannes. He was fine with the posh life as he grew up, he didn’t know any better. But when he hit high school, something in him sorta snapped. He saw how ridiculous everything was and how the only thing the people around him cared about was how much money was in their bank account. But there was nothing he really could do about it then, so he joined the debate team and lead small school rallies about injustice in the school systems,” She rolled her eyes and sighed, “Once he graduated he cut contact with his family and took what money he had save and moved here to Paris to be in law school. How he gained the money for that no one knows; but here he is, our little revolutionary.”

 

Grantaire said nothing to his story; it was all still trying to process. He just couldn’t wrap his brain around why anyone would give up having everything. Growing up with nothing made him appreciate what little he had, and that really was only a few pencils and pieces of paper. A part of him wondered if he ever looked up to Enjolras when they were younger, if he had ever been one of the rich boys he saw on TV going to posh parties near the coast. But none of that mattered now, at least not to Enjolras. All that mattered was getting what the people deserved and maybe that in itself was a good enough cause to give up his comfortable life before Paris.

 

The more the artist thought about it, the more the blonde’s actions at the park made sense. He was distant and focused. Obviously someone like Grantaire wouldn’t phase the year’s worth of defenses, much like his own. His Apollo was unreachable, just like the sun he was named for. And like that sun, if you got too close; you would surely get burned.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be as close as to modern day France as I could. The homes towns of Enjy and R are actual cities, both found on richest/poorest cities in France. Also the park area is a real place, its sunny and not far off the Louvre museum. 
> 
> ~LaLa


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantiare can not control his emotions around Enjolras and falls into old habits he thought he outgrew

When Grantiare was a child, he would make disturbing drawings or write letters and leave them around in hopes someone would find them and force out the words he could not say willingly. No one ever found the letters; he liked to think to ease the knowledge that they chose to just not react or find him. Over the years he kept drawing and writing but stopped leaving them to be found, because he knew they wouldn’t be by this point they had just become a therapy to him a way to turn disorder into passion and to make the days pass.

He found himself once again in the corner of les amis as he had multiple times in the few weeks he’d been in Paris. Hiding his sketch book from Jehan's prying eyes, much to his vocalized dismay as Grantiars tried impossibly to hide a snicker. Not caring how it interrupted Enjolras speech he was ignoring in favor of observing his words and passion onto the page not paying attention to what it became until it was too late to correct it. But he could only go so long without caring or ignoring before Enjolras stopped ignoring him and called him out on his interruptions.

“I figure one such as you should care for the plight of those with mental illnesses.”  Enjolras spat out towards the drunk in the corner who by this point was too far gone to turn away from a fight.

“And what, Apollo” Enjolras cringed at the nickname “do you mean by one such as me? Do you question my intellectual value or simply think me to be insane?”

“I think of you as a miserable lying drunk with no belief who has only a goal in this world is too bring down those with faith to his level until this world is as miserable to all as it appears to him through the beer goggles he cannot, no the he refuses, take off” with that Enjolras turned and continued his speech against self-diagnosis hiding the guilt that over took him in response to the amazed faces that look up at him in shock. Grantiare's face was not one of them as he pointedly ignored Jehans pokes and scribbled over his drawing in his sketch book.

The dark ink mixed into the angry reds and browns that filled the page fueled by Enjolras' passion and destroyed by Grantiare's.

_You think me nothing_

_For I have nothing to believe in_

_My belief was taken_

_Long ago_

_Stolen with my trust from creation_

_One cannot believe in a world_

_That has never believed in them_

_Push them down_

_And make them nothing_

_Until they don’t believe in them either_

_One can go without belief in the world_

_And it will continue to spin_

_But will one continue_

_When they do not believe in themselves_

He left the poem and picture under his empty wine bottle not looking back as Jehan dragged him babbling about getting a puppy to cheer them up. Grantiare focused only on how Jean’s hair bounced while he walked and not the sound of Enjolras cleaning up the tables.


	3. I Promise You One Day, I Promise You Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras doesn't understand Grantaire's line of thinking and isn't very good at confessing his own feelings.

Enjolras stood still as he watched Grantaire and Jehan disappear, the dirty plates in his hand left unforgotten.  The argument from earlier was still raw and unforgiving. Maybe he was too honest, but what else was he supposed to do? Grantaire’s constant interruptions were getting on his last nerve, more so because the drunk didn’t even pay attention. Sure, he was new but that gave him no right to interfere with his plans.  He continued to watch the door as he mindlessly gathered dishes in his hands, only when he felt a new texture on his finger tips did he snap out of it.

 

His brows creased as he picked up the pieces of paper, looking over them. They were folded and slightly crumpled as if they were stored wrong or who ever had them thought of throwing them away. Enjolras looked around the room to see if anyone noticed he had them and decided to claim the papers. So when no one came forward t, he unfolded the first one, revealing a picture of vibrant reds and murky browns. What ever it was he wasn't entirely sure, it was noting but violent swirls and twists. It almost looked like a sea during a storm, thrashing against the shore in some battle to get closer inland. There was a small initial in the corner, a red ‘R’ prominent against the browns.

 

Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, he had never bothered to look at Grantaire’s art; it had never really interested him before. But what ever this was meant to convey certainly had caught his interest. He set it back on the table to look at the other paper, hoping it was more of the strange art. What he found was art, only words in place of colors, and instead of it being open to interpretation, it was clear that its intent was heart break. He reread the words over and over again, letting them continue to stab him in the heart.

 

“What’s got him all flustered?” Musichetta said from behind the counter looking over to Combeferre who was reading a magazine.  He barely glanced over his glasses at her, showing how much he wasn't interested in what ever she was asking. She scowled, hitting him in the arm with her hand towel. “He’s your best friend! Look at the pout he has on his face!”

 

 

With a groan, Combeferre turned to take a glance at his leader only to turn back to his magazine a second later, “He had a spat with Grantaire today. Best let him be.” That obviously not what the woman wanted to hear but Joly came up behind her with a smile and she instantly forgot what was being said. Once she was gone, Combefferre looked back at Enjolras. “You alright over there?” The look his friend was wearing did concern him, he just didn't want to give Musichetta the satisfaction of knowing she was right. 

 

Enjolras jumped lightly, and even though he tried to hide it, Combeferre noticed. He continued to hold the same unimpressed stare as he watched Enjolras clear his throat and walk over to take a seat next to him.

 

Enjolras kept his hands on the papers, refusing to look up at his friend. He wanted to talk about what he read but it felt so intimate that only his eyes were supposed to fall on the words. His eyes stayed glued on the papers but his body turned towards Combeferre, “Do you have any paper?”

 

 

It was just another day in the Musain, the Chief, the Guide, and the Center all sat in the very back of the second floor, going over detailed plans. Jehan, who now had accepted his long hair, was having Joly braid it, much to the hypochondriac’s dismay. Éponine was sitting behind the counter, looking bored when Grantaire walked in, who she immediately rushed over to. She blabbed on about something Marius said; only gaining a small chuckle in response. But she continued even when the artist sat down and had his sketch book sitting on the counter. He didn’t want to be rude and tell her he wasn’t in the mood but thankfully just giving a nod and a small “yeah,” every once in awhile was enough.

 

Only when she was silent did he raise his head away from his sketches; seeing why she was silent right away. Enjolras stood in front of him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. But there was something else; was that, a blush on his face? Grantaire rose a brow and sat up straight, “May I help you?”

 

“For you,” Enjolras thrust a folded paper in the artist’s direction, averting his eyes else where. Grantaire stared for a moment before taking the square from the blond.

 

“May I ask what it is?”

 

“No, just read it when you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll understand.” Enjolras then turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs; blush still clinging onto his face.

 

Grantaire looked to Éponine who looked just as confused as he was. She tossed her hands up in the air with a scoff before getting up to go back to the counter. Looking after her, he wasn’t sure if that was a subtle hint that he needed to read it right that moment so she could rush over and interrogate him about it. Regardless of her intentions, his own curiosity was growing. So while watching her, he unfolded it and began reading.

 

_I do not have a way with words in the manner of poetry. I can rally and inspire but conveying my true feelings is something I can not do well. So I will spare you the pain and just say what I need to say. I read the poem you left, whether it was on purpose or not I do not know. But what I read truly did hurt me. If what I’ve heard about your past is true, I understand you’re thinking. But know that all of that doesn’t matter now. Because everyone here loves you dearly and we believe in you. What I said was… out of anger and I should not have said those things. I was just frustrated and took it out on you. I would like you to cut down on your drinking though; if that’s even possible. But regardless, you have a new life here. Make the best of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took longer to get this chapter out! I had such a major writers block during this. 
> 
> ~LaLa


	4. Running out of breath Running out of strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire responds to Enjolras letter and Jehan is a protective mama bear

  Grantaire couldn’t breathe. He felt like he had just been punched in the stomach, he hadn’t meant to leave the papers behind and he certainly did not intend for Enjolras to find it. Between his haste to leave and embarrassment to return once he realized the paper was gone he had convinced himself that surely they would be missed and just thrown away with the rest of the trash.

 Staring at the letter in his hand Enjolras’ wispy handwriting started to blur before Grantaire’s eyes. Being unable to focus his eyes made it harder for him to focus his breathing and he struggled to get air in and out of his chest. He felt as if his ribs were crushing in on his lungs and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to his brain. As unpleasant as the feeling was it wasn’t a new one to Grantaire. For the first time since he left home he was having a panic attack.

Unsure what to do Grantaire rose to his feet and ran as fast as he could out of the Mussin deaf to Eponine calling after him. He did not look back as he ran, the letter being crushed in his hand, and consequently missed the scene unfolding behind him.

Eponine had been watching him intently since she noticed his breathing change and jumped up a few seconds later to chase after him once she shot Enjolras a dirty look. Coufeyrac and Combeferre kept switching between staring at Grantaire’s now empty chair and gawking at Enjolras is a silent plea for explanation. Marius, in his own special technique, managed to get scared when the door slammed after Eponine ran out and flip over his own chair and brought Bossuet down on top of him as he fell. Joly quickly detangles his fingers from Jehan’s hair and hurried over to the scene mumbling under his breath about Marius’s light weight and the breakability of bones and the amount of germs present in only a single drop of blood.

Jehan though had mostly remained motionless gently tying a flower stem around the end of the braid that Joly had just been folding. Enjolras was the only one who seemed to notice as the small man unfolded his legs from underneath himself stretching the floral pattern of his to tight jeans. Enjolras was mental preparing himself for the biggest bitchout of his life as he saw the poet take a deep breath and step towards him.

What he did not expect though was for Jehan to punch him.

And punch him hard.

Right in his pretty face.

Enjolras stumbled back and lost his balance, for being so petite and soft spoken Jehan could defiantly hold his own. This thought among a few others crowded into the chiefs head as he watched Jehan exit the Musain. Too distracted to notice as his center and guide trying to help him up as he stuttered out that ‘‘the letter was not intended to hurt.’’

After a few moments of searching Jehan found Eponine and directed her back to the café ‘‘Enjolras may or may not be bleeding and you, my dear Ep, may or may not want to stop the blood flow or make it worse. I honestly do not care. But do go back and make sure Joly hasn't passed out…..or worse stayed conscious and tried to help. I know where out sweet R is.’’

Eponine shook her head reluctantly and turned back towards the Musain. Jehan watched her retreat with a sigh before heading in the opposite direction. When he had taken Grantaire in as a housemate he had been warned of the possibility of panic attacks. Though the thought of it broke his gentle heart Jehan unjudgementaly instructed the cynic that if he were ever to have an attack in public to call him and go to Jehans favorite bridge because there were never any people around. Jehan could only hope that he had.

The poet let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw Grantaires slouched form under the bridge shaking with sobs. Jehan simply sat beside his friend and gently hugged him until he wanted to talk. Gradually the sobs died down into small shakes and he looked up into Jehans kind eyes.

“May I see the letter R dear?” Grantiare handed him the nearly destroyed paper and the poet quickly read it face growing confused “why did this upset you so darling? All it says is you are loved and you are.”

Grantaire only began to sob again as he forced out his simple answer.

“I do not deserve this love. All I can do is hurt and disappointment those who love me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Between moving out and starting college my schedules been pretty unforgiving also please point out any mistakes I'm sick as a dog and typing on my tablet so there's probably a few  
> -Momo


	5. What Brings Us Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hadn't spoken since the letter incident, but, a little ball of fuzz changed that.

    After a couple more cries and some beers at the local bar, Grantaire finally came around and decided that maybe, it wasn’t so bad after all. Jehan listened to his rants about Enjolras; about how perfect the blonde was, yet how difficult and confusing he could be. The poet only gave an amused smile as he listened, not sure if Grantaire was just saying things because he was out of their leader’s hearing range or if it was the drink talking. He figured it was the later. But then again, he could have really meant it; love was such a difficult thing.

 

     Over the next couple weeks, Grantaire stayed to himself mostly. He didn’t burst out at meetings; just stayed to the back with a sketch book and his spiked coffee. He no longer looked Enjolras in the eye, no longer looked up when he voice rang over the entire café. The only time he dared to peak was when Enjolras’ back was turned, when all he could see was the back of his favorite red sweater and the blonde hair curling at the bottom of his shoulders. It was all he felt he was worthy of. He adored Apollo’s face, his lips, his sparkling eyes, but no matter what anyone said, the fact he was loved made him even more unworthy. It was a sick sense of punishment that Grantaire didn’t even understand; he just learned to live with it. 

 

            They hadn’t spoken since the letter incident, but, a little ball of fuzz changed that. Bahorel had walked into the Musain on a rainy day, his undercut hairstyle was ruined as the water had washed away all the product, but his scowl showed he had something else on his mind.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jehan picked his head up from scribbling on Grantaire’s arm to look over at the man. He said nothing, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, just unzipped his jacket, where a small little whimpering came from. Everyone crowded around to see what it was, they quickly learned by Musichetta’s squeal.

 

“It’s an itty bitty puppy!”

 

“Itty bitty?” Courfeyrac asked, “That thing is fatter then my arm.”

 

“She.” Bahorel corrected quickly.

 

“Why do you have her?” Jehan smiled lightly and pet her head, cooing lightly.

 

“She was in a box on my way home. I couldn’t leave her in the rain; she’s too small.” He gave her face a little stroke and handed her over to Courfeyrac to hold while he took his jacket off, “I was gonna nurse her a little before I took her to wor- a shelter.” He quickly cleared his throat and ignored the looks he got.

 

The little pug cried lightly in Courfeyrac’s hands, squirming and kicking. So he handed her to Musichetta who was dying to cuddle the puppy. The crying didn’t stop and the woman pouted, wishing she could hold her a little longer. The crying didn’t stop until Grantaire took her. He smiled for the first time in days as he rocked her side to side, and everyone grew quiet.

At some point, Enjolras appeared next to them, watching in awe. He had never seen Grantaire be so gentle, not even in his drawings did he take this much care. He watched the puppy curl up against Grantaire’s chest, memorizing the smile lines on the man’s face as he watched her eyes close.

 

“She shouldn’t go to a shelter, not this young.” Jehan said looking over his roommate’s shoulder.

 

“Pugs go fast in shelter.” Bahorel crossed his arms and sat down, blushing lightly, “Or so I’ve heard….”

 

“Well we can’t take her.” Marius piped in, looking a little sad, “Cosette insisted we get more sea monkeys and I’m not sure I can afford to keep a new family of monkey and a puppy.” Courfeyrac snorted and tried not to, and Cosette just smiled affectionately and patted Marius’ shoulder as his head made a thump against the wooden table. “I just want to be a good father to my sea monkeys!” He cried out quietly.

 

There was a moment of silence before Grantaire spoke up, “I can take her.” He looked to Jehan, “If you don’t mind that is.”

 

Jehan shook his head, “I think she’ll be a nice edition to the house.”

 

“What will you name her?” Enjolras said, shocking everyone.

 

“Elinor.” Grantaire furrowed his brows as every tilted their heads, “She’s this actress. She’s kinda cute; she’s on some show on the history channel. Not sure what it is though.” He smirked lightly as he picked up his jacket and wrapped it around his front, to block Elinor from the rain. The other rolled their eyes and went back to what they were doing, but Enjolras went over, still looking a little nervous.

 

“You’re going to get wet.”

 

Grantaire shrugged, “She’s more important that I am.” He looked back at Enjolras, but kept his eyes focused on his chin or on his ear; never looking him in the eye. The blond fidgeted with his fingers, wanting to say more but didn’t know how.

 

“Don’t worry Apollo, you’ll be able to come play with her. I can already see it in your eye. You can’t deny how cute she is.” The artist smirked lightly before turning away and heading out the door.

 

“I can’t deny how cute the both of you are….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY. SOOOOORY. I can't believe it took me this long to get this chapter out. But you know, school and then holiday and yeah. Anyways, hope you like!  
> BTW, if you couldn't tell, Bahorel works at an animal clinic but keeps it hush hush. 
> 
> ~LaLa


End file.
